


Void.

by IggyBlue



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, vegeta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4969474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IggyBlue/pseuds/IggyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years of disappointment and loss materialise in the form of the first grief Vegeta has experienced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Void.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best, but it all came together in a crappy jumble and I tried to convey what this was supposed to be. Soundtrack was Sigur Ros to set the mood.

When Goku dies for the final time, by his own determination, things gradually go back to normal.

His friends mourn his loss, they grieve for him, they hold a happy memorial to his life and presence in their lives. Several weeks are heavy with the the burden of their recent loss. Weeks pass and the raw, stinging pain of losing Goku, while still painful, is no longer crippling.

Things go back to normal.

Except when, at Capsule Corp, Bulma and her parents never really see Vegeta around anymore. He appears from time to time in the halls, but it's not the same. It's not normal, not for Vegeta.

He doesn't join them for meals. He doesn't leave the house, and he never enters the Gravity Room.

Things were just never the same after Goku left.

And she tries to reach out to him, she knows she's the only one with even the slightest chance of reaching through his impenetrable walls. But he doesn't respond; his eyes remain glazed and transfixed on some point beyond a horizon he can't see.

She tries to make him angry like she was so easily able to before. But it isn't easy any more when he has no anger to give her. In fact, he doesn't give her anything. Not even some incarnation of apathy. He's there, but he's not, all at the same time.

When she presses him to talk to her, he remains silent. She had given him time, lots of time to come to terms with the loss, but she figured now was appropriate for him to start getting back to himself. To move through what she supposed was sorrow. She didn't even know how he would term what he was going through. And was it for Goku, someone he was supposed to have hated, or was it for himself?

All he knows is that there is an ache deep inside him that hasn't eased at all.

And she watches from a perspective of her own loss, a hollow carved out fresh from her heart that losing her childhood friend has left. She mourned for not only Goku, but for what he represented. She mourned for the loss of her own childhood now, because all the adventure and excitement for life of her youth had been personified in Goku. 

And things would never be the same without him.

She watches as, day in day out, the door to his room remains closed. They hear nothing of Vegeta any more, and it has been even months now. And his closest friends, yes, even his family, have come back into some semblance of normalcy.

Sometimes she wonders if he's even still there. Because she knocks on his door, and she calls his name, but gets no response. And at times she curses a younger Bulma who would get mad at him for being rude and dismissive when she'd knock. Because all she wants now, more than anything, is a grouchy verbal stab from him.

Anything.

One night, when she can't sleep - she gets up from her bed in a huff, throwing the sheets back as if they were the cause of her restlessness. It was warm; springtime. The night air retained the stagnant heat of the day that had passed. Normally, she lamented, she would feel her happiest at this time of year. A time of renewal and growth, of new beginnings.

And she finds herself padding barefoot down the hall toward his room. She stares at his door, wondering what it was that she'd hoped to achieve by coming here. Had she supposed that tonight he would invite her in for a heart-to-heart? She sighs, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the heavy wood.

But she doesn't knock, she simply stands there silent, thinking. Regretting that the universe was so cruel as to take away someone that brought light into so many lives. She breathes the still night air. Wonders what ungodly hour it was, as if it even mattered. As if knowing would send her straight into the refreshing and peaceful slumber she'd needed so much, for so long.

A click. She stumbles forward, gains her footing again. The door is reluctant on its hinges as she finds her feet in the threshold of his room, and he's there. Standing before her, then returning to his seat beside the full-length window. She stands there in a stupor as she gazes at his retreating back.

When she finally gets her bearings again, she steps inside and closes the door quietly behind her. It feels so strange to be in his room; she'd not ever felt welcome there since he started living with them. It had been his sanctuary since then, besides the Gravity Room.

Now the hostility of the room was gone, and its sole occupant sat staring out the window at the night sky. She gingerly began forward, as if his usual vitriol would suddenly come upon her as it always had. 

It didn't, and she sat on his bed, still facing his back.

There were too many words to traverse, she wondered if it would be useful to even begin. Too many words shut him down quickly, she knew. She looked upon his form, paler now, thinner than she remembered him. Even his posture had changed minutely, and for the first time ever, he seemed small.

"Have you been eating?" She begins tentatively, the sound of her voice unconvincing even in her own ears.

He shrugs in response. Though it's a response, at least. At the very least he hasn't ignored her words completely.

Another lull falls between them. In these moments, Bulma feels weary. Life had worn them all down.

She starts again, still in hushed tones. "Did you wanna talk about it?"

He shakes his head, she understands. "Thank you for letting me in."

He shrugs again. So she continues, "I've missed you."

His head drops. He probably misses himself, she muses. Probably misses living like he had before. Passionately.

"I don't know if it will help you, but getting back into a regular routine helps many people. Perhaps you could try when you feel up to it."

His voice sounds choked, as if he'd forgotten how to use it after so long. "I-- can't."

Her heart lurches, and the sadness she feels for him moves her to go and sit beside him. She rests a hand on his back, letting her head fall on his shoulder. She's not afraid anymore.

She hears him swallow heavily, hears him trying to reign in ragged breathing. She turns her head and whispers into his shirt, "I'm so sorry."

Several minutes pass between them, warm air still hanging heavy in these small hours of the night. He finally sighs. "It's not just him."

"Mm?" She turns her head slightly on his shoulder, repositioning so she's comfortable.

"All of them."

The night outside is unmoving, there are a few stars out but not many.

"Everything I was supposed to be." He inhales and exhales shakily. "Everything I ever wanted. The life I was born into promised so much. I would have been king, by now."

She strokes his bicep idly, listening.

"And now Kakarot is gone, the last Saiyan besides me. And it wasn't by my own hand."

She is suddenly curious. " _Would_ you have killed him?"

He hesitates. "If I'd the ability, no. Just to be the best would be enough." He sighs, shifting. "Now I'm only the best by default. And everything I ever wanted to achieve has died in circumstances I had no control over."

"I'm sorry." She repeated into his shoulder.

"There is nothing left for me."

She swallowed, grief surging through her chest. For her, for Goku, but mostly for Vegeta.

"And I hate--" His fist clenched and unclenched before her eyes. "I hate _nothing_ anymore, besides the fact that I have lived. And I regret it all."

Tears began gently spilling from her stinging eyes, she squeezed them shut and buried her face on his shoulder. She gripped his bicep tightly, willing away the tide of emotions washing over her.

He remained silent, unmoving. After some minutes passed, she finally cried her tears dry. Her voice was thick as it cut through the night air. Without knowing what to say, she spoke what she felt."Vegeta, I wish things had been better for you. I wish you could be happy."

He said nothing.

She took a deep breath. "You are the strongest person I've ever known, in more ways than one. And I know you can get through this, even this."

A rare, quiet objection came from a voice smaller than usual for him. "But I don't... I have no will left."

"Vegeta, it is in your blood to survive."

This struck him. It was something he would usually say of himself, of his race, now dead.

And his face fell into his hands, in those hours of a warm and still night, and unheard tears fell into his fingers. At her prompting, it seems, he begins to mourn for his people. For his unfulfilled desires and goals, for his expectations, for a future he never had. For himself. For a life that had been harsh and cruel. And for a friend and rival.


End file.
